


of jogging or lack thereof

by dalyeau



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Morning Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-07 13:18:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1120269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dalyeau/pseuds/dalyeau
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco is a morning person. Jean is really, really not, but he's always up for some good old morning sex anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	of jogging or lack thereof

**Author's Note:**

> there's literally no reason whatsoever to this, make of that what you will.

Marco always wakes up first. 

He is a morning person, after all, something that Jean’s said -multiple times- he’s never going to understand because _Who even goes out for a jog at seven in the fucking morning, Marco? (I do, Jean)_ but it’s not really all that bad for Marco himself because it means he’s always treated to the sight of an asleep, peaceful Jean resting next to him when his alarm goes off (it never wakes Jean up because he’s a heavy sleeper; Marco is sure that he could sleep through a nuclear war easily). 

When Marco wakes up this time, Jean is in his usual position. They always fall asleep spooning, Jean covering Marco’s back entirely, and during the night Marco always ends up turning so he’s on his back but Jean remains on his side facing him, with an arm thrown over Marco’s middle and his face pressed against his shoulder.

Marco’s hand comes up to gently trace his fingers over Jean’s forearm, and then he rolls onto his side to look. Jean’s hair is sticking out in all sort of directions and his lips are slightly parted; he twitches a bit in his sleep and his eyelids flutter, always the sign of a vivid dream. Marco can’t really be blamed for leaning in and very, very gently pressing his lips to Jean’s lower one, pecking him softly. He murmurs a quiet _‘Morning_ not even caring that Jean can’t even hear it, as he rubs at his own eyes in an attempt to get rid of any sleepiness. Then he takes a deep breath.

Right. Time to get up, have breakfast, and then go for a nice jog around the park. Marco’s found out he has a fondness for routine and this particular one has been working just fine for him for the last half a year.

He’s sitting up when a hand closes around his wrist firmly.

“No,” Jean says.

“Yes,” Marco replies by reflex, looking around for his shirt. “You should come with me. Once you get started and get used to it, you’ll love it.”

“Fuck your jogs,” is Jean’s only answer, his hand tugging at Marco’s wrist insistently. 

Marco could easily shake him off -Jean is still weakened by grogginess- but he can’t quite bring himself to. 

“You have classes too, remember?”

“In like three hours.” Jean’s eyes are closed, but he cracks one open. Sleepiness takes over and he closes it again. He looks like a tired kitten and Marco can feel his willpower slipping slightly. He needs to escape, and fast. “Stay. Make me coffee. We can watch some tv.”

“You’re an awful tv partner,” Marco reminds him gently, now scanning the room for his shoes. “You don’t have the necessary attention span.” 

“Fine. I’ll blow you.”

That makes Marco chuckle and he finally unwraps Jean’s hand from his wrist, but he doesn’t give it back to Jean until after he gives his fingers a fond squeeze.

“Tempting as that is, I think you’d just fall asleep again. You should do that, by the way. I’ll be back in an hour.”

“You’re the worst,” Jean declares solemnly. He rolls all the way to the other side of the bed, wrapping himself up in a blanket burrito that covers him from head to toe in the process, leaving only his messy hair in sight. Marco worries slightly that he’ll come back to a dead body on their bed. “Go.”

Well, that’s his chance to escape, possible future corpse or not. After assuring his boyfriend that he’ll get his coffee as soon as the morning jog is taken care of _(And if you’re still alive in there!)_ , Marco gets up and puts on his shirt.

And he’s attacked by a blanket burrito with two very strong arms that pull him back on the bed. Before he can even blink, Jean is on top of him in a mess of sheets and blankets, smiling sharp and dangerous and pinning Marco’s arms to the mattress.

“Gotcha. You didn’t think it’d be that easy, right?”

Marco sighs. “I should have known better. You’re one stubborn bastard.”

“Damn right,” Jean says smugly, and he relinquishes his grip on one of Marco’s hands so he can tug at Marco’s shirt, hooking it behind his head. It’s sort of uncomfortable and Marco is about to tell him to either let him go or take the shirt off completely, but then Jean is dipping his head and lazily circling a nipple with his tongue and Marco forgets all about the shirt altogether.

His free hand flies to grasp Jean’s hair. 

“Jean, I _really_ like my routine-”

Jean’s teeth close around the sensitive flesh and Marco’s sentence is cut off by a sharp gasp. 

“I said,” Jean grumbles, and then yawns long and wide, and Marco falls in love a little harder with him, “fuck your jogs, Marco.”

He dives in to kiss Marco then, and Marco goes with it a little too eagerly, humming contently and arching up against him, before pushing Jean away as kindly and swiftly as he can and making to run the fuck away from that bed. 

He doesn’t get very far, of course, because he’s not really trying that hard at all. Jean catches him again, wrapping his arms around Marco’s torso and pulling him back down onto the bed, and by the time they’re kissing once more they’re both laughing like the sleepy absolute idiots in love they are and Marco’s hand is on Jean’s jaw, appreciating the rasp of day-old stubble as he makes a soft, pleased sound deep in his throat. The blanket burrito is gone, pushed down all the way to the end of the bed, and sunlight filters through the window and burns on Marco’s freckled skin. This time it’s Marco on top of Jean, straddling his hips, and the shirt is still uncomfortable so he stops kissing Jean for a moment so he can take it off and toss it somewhere across the room.

“That’s more like it,” Jean says rather happily, and his hands are on Marco’s hips with his thumbs pressing into the bones there in an intrinsically possessive manner. Marco has a weakness for hipbones, both touching and being touched, and he bucks up against Jean’s touch instinctively with a little sound of approval. “I win.”

“You suck so much,” Marco breathes out, already innerly saying goodbye to his canceled jog, rest in peace.

Jean’s cutting grin is back. “About that…”

Displaying an incredible amount of strength, Jean rolls them over, so that now Marco’s on his back, with his legs still wrapped around Jean’s waist. Jean doesn’t get to it right away, not really - at first he merely thrusts down against Marco, making his eyes snap shut and his thighs tighten around Jean’s hips. He pushes back up desperately, and Jean meets him with another thrust, and they’re both rocking together in a steady rhythm as they grow harder and harder against each other with only their boxers separating them. Marco’s out of breath, panting and gasping, and he digs his nails into Jean’s back as he clings to him like a lifeline and rakes them down only to clutch at his ass a moment later.

“So much better than your stupid jogs,” Jean mumbles, and with his hands on Marco’s thighs he hitches his legs up as he slides down his body. He presses wet, sloppy kisses to Marco’s taut stomach, over the waistband of his boxers as he looks up with wicked eyes, and then over Marco’s -still frustratingly clothed- cock. He mouthes over it, his breath hot and madenning, and Marco cries out and makes to grasp at his hair but Jean catches his hand and intertwines their fingers instead, their joined hands falling on the mattress. 

His other hand, he uses it to tug at Marco’s boxers down, and then his lips are on Marco’s cock, kissing and licking and sucking, and Marco squeezes Jean’s hand in pleasure. 

“Jean,” he says, as Jean sucks his cock like there’s nothing he’d rather be doing at seven in a Monday’s morning. “Jean, please-” his mouth falls open with a little moan and he’s flushed red from chest to forehead, he can tell without need to see it. “ _Shit._ ” 

He comes embarrassingly quick, Marco is afraid to admit, after what feels like a grand total of five minutes. Jean doesn’t stop sucking on his cock until Marco’s long finished twitching with the aftershocks, and when he pulls away he gives the tip a final lick that reeks of smugness. His hand is still twined with Marco, and they don’t even let go as Jean goes back up to press frantic kisses along Marco’s neck, as Marco wraps his hand around Jean’s cock and strokes and watches with half-closed eyes how Jean thrusts into his grip without patience. He shivers his way into an orgasm that he spills all over Marco’s torso, and it’s hot and messy and wonderfully perfect, as far as Marco is concerned.

Jean draws a smiley face with the wetness over Marco’s stomach.

“Oh my _God_ , you’re actually five years old,” Marco says in disbelief and throws his arm over his laughing face, after Jean’s proudly pointed out his hard work. 

Jean just yawns again, nudges Marco’s jaw with his nose and asks, “So, about that coffee?”


End file.
